The Path

For once in my life
I thought I knew
I thought the path
Was straight and true

But going down
The road looks bleak
With a surface worn
From a thousand feet

The weather forecast
Was daily sunshine
But by noon each day
Storm clouds aline

The rain is hard
Machine gun rattle
Which causes me to think
Or possibly prattle

Am I the one who
Deserves the road?
Or the one who paves it
And softens the load?

For the one after
Who needs to find
The end of the road
As the design

A worthless one
One of the rest
The ones who are never
Remembered or addresses

We straighten the path
Blanket the ground
Until tomorrow
When we aren't around

We or I are not here
For a grand purpose or plan
But only to be the mass which those
Who are chosen look grand

Are we, am I, one of the mass
Through which the special ones pass
Who can shine the bright gleam
If I am within the great mainstream